


Cathfark Character Exposition Scene I

by ovr4tee



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29914428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ovr4tee/pseuds/ovr4tee
Summary: A short scene exploring a little of Cathfark's personality.





	Cathfark Character Exposition Scene I

It was the day after the wedding, and Cathfark sat on a small log on the side of the road, at the gateway to the Burgomaster's Mansion, small piles of his equipment scattered, yet also meticulously organized, around his feet. To even the most casual eye it was easy to see that he was just idly cleaning the cruor of the previous day's encounter from the exposed metal aspects of his armor and short sword, whilst mostly keeping an eye on the road. After a few minutes, content that nothing was coming into town without the town gates creaking in alarm, he reached down, picked up the tankard that sat upon the ground beside the log he sat upon, raised it to his lips and took a deep quaff of the contents. The bitter, brown liquor spilled down his throat, and around his chin. Wiping his face clean, he put the mug back down in its place, and continued with the cleaning, in earnest.

Blood was always difficult to get off his sword blade, as he knew all too well, but here in Barovia, it seemed to etch itself into every pore along the tang, and no matter how cleaned and polished it was after an encounter in this damned place, it still lingered on, leaving a faint reddish sheen at the point, blade and guard. Or, at least, so it seemed to his eye.

Still, he pressed on with the chore at hand, trying to enjoy the process. Like many who lived by their weapons, he felt that the maintenance of his weapons brought him closer to them. It started back when he was younger, spending hours in the local woodland looking for the thick twigs he needed to make the shafts for the crossbow bolts for his teacher, who then showed him the proper way to care for the bolts, whether re-feathering the fletch, replacing a bent head or cleaning the shaft of a used bolt that had done its job quite successfully. 

Soon enough he was lost in his own little space, wiping clean, polishing, and oiling his blade, only to restart the process again, because once was never enough. He soon started singing quietly to himself the odd snippet of lyrics he knew of songs, interspersing the known with a hummed tune or spontaneous new lyrics about the events in these weeks - or was it months? Years, even? - in Boravia. Soon his singing got a little louder.

"And it's no, nay, never!  
No nay never no more!  
And I'll play the advent'rer!  
No never no more!"

One or two of the few townsfolk who were around glanced his way, but he didn't see their looks, as he was to engrossed in his work. He also did not notice the small audience of the town's children who were gathering. They were keeping their distance, as they had been warned about bothering "the goodly folk who saved the town", watching and listening intently, to this small figure sat in front of them.

"I took from my pocket ten Electrum so bright,  
And the landlady's eyes opened wide with delight!  
She said, "I have beers and wines of the best...".

He stopped and looked up, suddenly acutely aware that he had an audience, and maybe one, for the most part, who should not be hearing that song. Most of the children yelped in surprise, as he raised his head and looked at them, and ran off full of noisy and excited chatter, but two stayed in their place.

"Good morning!" he said to them.

"Morning, Sir," replied the larger of the two, a boy of around sixteen who was about twice the size of Cathfark.

The smaller boy, who looked about ten, but was still bigger than Cathfark, just stood there smiling.

"Is it true what they say, Mister?", asked the younger child, without even a greeting.

"Depends," replied Cathfark, with a small smile. He stood up and motioned them over, to take his place on the log.

"Our Mamă, says you slew a dozen Dire Wolves and fifty undead," interjected the elder of the two, as the boys sat down. He was still taller than the Halfling, even sat on a log, though only just!

"But, Tată, says you only killed three Wolves and a dozen undead," added the younger boy.

Cathfark laughed.

"I'm afraid both of your parents are wrong, unless they meant what we did, as a group, in which case Tată was closest. I only managed one kill: one of the Wolves. I did get some decent hits in, though, but my magic-user friends made more corpses than I. However, I do not really keep count, I just concern myself with making sure my friends and I see another day."

"What about The Baron? Did your group not injure him?"

"Personally, I do not know how gravely injured he was, for sure - we spent most of the night in conjecture and debate, on that matter - but the general feeling was that we actually killed him for a moment. Remember that split second of bright sunlight, yesterday afternoon?"

"Yes?" they both replied, simultaneously.

"The wiser folk in our party says that was his moment of death. Not only that, but that this realm, for the same split second, returned to its rightful plane of existence."

He nodded at the boys, with an acknowledgement of truth in the statement.

"Wow!" exclaimed the youngest.

The elder boy looked impressed but had his hand on his chin in thought.

"So, are you and your friends going to go to the castle and finish the job, Mister?"

"Please, call me Cathfark. And that seems to be the plan. Or at least one of the plans. We still must decide on what action to take. I yearn deeply to return home, so I am all for charging over there and striking while the iron is hot, as they say. Cooler heads are prevailing, though and plans are in the process of being made."

The eldest boy stood up.

"If you are to fight him, I want to come. I am good with a sword. Just ask any Krezkan!"

"It’s true! Janos was born with a sword in his hand, our Mată says," interjected the younger.

"That may well be true, boys, but I doubt your parents will want you to come with us," he replied, looking at Janos. "And you're definitely too young," he said, pointing up at the younger boy, who was also stood up, now.

"I'm bigger than you!"

Cathfark let out a loud guffaw.

"I like your spirit, child, but looks are deceiving. Among my people, I am considered a young adult, and in my prime. Besides, I have had training. In fact, I was probably training before you were born!"

"Oh yeah?!" the young boy yelled, lunging forward, reaching out to grab the Halfling, as he got within reach.

"No, Grigore," yelled the older boy, but it was too late.

A look of surprise flashed across Cathfark's face, quickly replaced by the look of a person about to teach someone a painful lesson. As the young boy got to him, Cathfark stepped a little to the side, knocking the youthful arms downward and to the side. Grigore's momentum carried him, spinning towards the ground. Cathfark helped the inevitable with a quick sweep of Grigore's legs. He deftly, swung himself onto the boy's chest, making an action as if he was unsheathing his dagger as they fell together. Grigore let out a gasp as he landed hard on his back, with the small Halfling on his chest. Cathfark already had his flattened hand at Grigore's neck, the tips of his fingers lined up straight across the young boy's throat.

Janos let out a gasp that turned into a laugh, as he quickly went from being concerned for his baby brother to enjoying the lesson that he was receiving at the hands of Cathfark.

Grigore looked scared, surprised, embarrassed and respectful, all at once, as he lay prone.

"I may be small, boy, but had these fingers been a dagger's blade there'd now be a crimson halo about your head and shoulders, as you lay here. Dying."

Grigore whimpered, before bursting into tears. Cathfark's expression went from slightly angry to sympathy and compassion. He got off Grigore, and stood beside him, offering a hand. Grigore took it, pulling himself up to a seated position, while wiping the tears and snot away from his face with the other hand. He motioned to Janos to come over.

"Help him to his feet, please?"

Janos extended his hand to Grigore, pulling him up to his feet. He put his hands upon his young sibling's shoulders, looked him in the eye with seriousness and then laughed, pulling him in for a hug, and tousling his hair.

"That was a valuable lesson. You should thank Mr. Cathfark!"

Grigore pulled away and looked at his brother, quizzically. After a moment, a look of resignation washed over him. He turned to Cathfark,

"I... I'm sorry, Sir."

"And..." prompted Janos.

"And thank you for the lesson."

Cathfark smiled.

"Any time. Now sit back down and leave room for me to sit between you."

The three of them sat.

"Now then. This is not just my short sword," said Cathfark, picking up his blade from the ground in front of them, "but it is also my friend, and we have to treat it as such."

Both boys looked a little perplexed, even Janos, as it appeared that his lessons had been purely in the practical use of a blade, and not in the metaphysical and philosophical aspects of its use.

"What I mean is this...".

And with that, two future warriors were set upon a path that would lead them to leading lives of courage, compassion, and honor.


End file.
